run on for a long time
by wild wolf free17
Summary: Marcela Anderson found the boys two days before Christmas of 1985. -AU, based on The Dead Poets Society-
1. I

**Title**: run on for a long time

**Chapter**: I

**Disclaimer**: the Winchesters aren't mine. title from "God's Gonna Cut You Down" performed by Johnny Cash.

**Warnings**: AU, clearly

**Pairings**: OMC/OFC

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 3080

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: written for reelspn, to the prompt of _Dead Poets Society_.

**More** **notes**: I don't speak Spanish, except for a smidge. Therefore, I'll say if they're talking in Spanish or not. If it's just Sam and Marcela, chances are it's Spanish they're speaking.

* * *

_Marcela Anderson found the boys two days before Christmas of 1985. She was cleaning rooms at Chaz's motel and heard sobbing through a threadbare wall._

_She knocked on the door, calling first in Spanish, then in broken English, to no avail. So she pulled out her master key and let herself in. _

_Two little boys—babies, really—huddled together in the far corner, the elder shielding the younger with his body. It was the smaller boy crying, wracking sobs that shook his tiny frame. _

_Marcela pegged their ages at six and two, going by her sister Maria's babies. She tried approaching, but the wild eyes of the older boy forced her back. She tried gaining their trust, but nothing worked, so she called the authorities. _

_Every day for six weeks, Marcela visited them in the orphanage, finally taking the younger home with her. All the authorities had learned, in the entire time, were the boys' names: Dean and Samuel. _

_Marcela, for the rest of her life, would be haunted by how the boys howled for each other. _

_Sam, the baby she'd fallen in love with, keened "Dean" to the sky as she carried him away. _

_And Dean, that fiercely protective child, shrieked "Sammy" so loudly that it echoed in her ears for miles down the road. _

o0o

"C'mon, Mama," Sam whined in Spanish, "Do I really hafta go?"

She gave him That Look. "You're gifted, Samuel. You need to go to the best school possible." He pouted, but she continued, "You've passed every entry test with flying colors—they can't keep you out. So you're going."

Sam sighed. "Can't I stay with my friends? People my own age?"

Marcela shook her head. "Sorry, sweetling, but no. You have a gift and it needs to be honed."

He sighed again. "But, Mama, Welton Academy? It's a school full of rich, snobby kids. I don't belong there!"

She narrowed her eyes and straightened to her full height, all five foot one of her. "Never say that," she hissed, reaching out to cup his cheek. "You hear me, Sam? Never speak about yourself like that again." Marcela stared into his eyes. "Your grandpapa left us more than enough money, sweetling. Don't worry about that."

He sighed again, deeply, before leaning down to kiss her forehead. "I know, Mama. Honest, I do. I just…"

Marcela nodded. "You'll go to Welton at the end of summer, sweetling."

o0o

Marcela had planned everything out, taking Sam on a tour of his new school in early July. He made her proud on the trip, charming everyone they met. He spoke English as though it was his main language, without any hint of an accent at all. She watched him happily, glad to see that he'd decided to accept Welton.

Mr. Vernon, the principal, told them that Sam would have a roommate, like all the students, though his would be a senior, even though he was only fourteen. "The Board and I," Mr. Vernon explained, "decided it would be best for you to have a roommate from your class, rather than one your own age." He looked at Marcela. "However, if you have any objection, we can always change it."

She shook her head. "As long as the boy doesn't detract from Sam's studies," she said carefully in English, "it should be fine."

Mr. Vernon smiled. "Dean Perry is one of our best students."

o0o

School would start midway through August. Marcela wanted to have everything ready, everything perfect for Sam. He'd never been away from her before, not since she took him home twelve years ago, and she wondered what she'd do with herself those long, aching months without him.

Sam, of course, was about equal parts excited and petrified. He'd always enjoyed school, her sweetling, and excelled at it. That was why he was going so far away… Marcela sighed, bringing her attention back to Sam.

"Do you really need fifteen notebooks?" she asked.

He smiled at her, dropping the stack in the buggy. "You're the one who said we don't want for money, Mama."

She tried holding a serious expression, but finally had to smile back.

o0o

Marcela flew with her boy to New Hampshire, rode in the taxi all the way to Welton. She held his hand, cupped his face, wondered if she could be doing the wrong thing.

"It'll be fine, Mama," Sam told her softly. "I promise."

She smiled waveringly. "I just want you to be happy, sweetling. That's all."

"I will be."

o0o

_Geena Perry remembers the first time she laid eyes on her youngest son. He was a dirty, nasty child, always ready with a glare and a curse. He was bitter and angry, waiting for a punch or kick. _

_Michael told her no, they couldn't take in the feral boy. They already had four children of their blood, and they were both getting on in years—it would be foolish to take on such a burden. _

_But Geena wanted the boy, so much it ached. She begged Michael for a week before he consented, and so when Dean was almost nine he finally came home. _

_Those first weeks were hard, as the boy ducked at every motion, flinched at every sound. Someone had misused him, terribly, enough that he was mostly broken by the time Geena found him. _

_Savannah, her cousin the social worker, said that the boy had been taken from a hotel room when he was about six. When no one claimed him, he was shoved into the foster system, and from there he floated for a long while, never staying long in one place. He'd had a couple good homes, but mostly bad ones, where he was—at best—neglected and—at worst—abused. _

_"It'll take hard work, healing him," Savannah told her. _

_"I know," Geena answered. "But I need this boy." _

_Her children were grown and gone, no longer needed or wanted her. This child, though… oh, she could save him. She just knew it. _

o0o

"Dean!" Michael Perry called up the stairs. "Breakfast!" He waited for his wife's son to acknowledge him and then turned back to his own meal.

The boy would come when he got hungry enough.

o0o

Michael had never wanted another child, and he made that quite plain in the months following Dean's adoption. Geena adored the boy, though, so Michael suffered him. He spent as little time as possible in the feral boy's company, but even he had to admit the boy got better as the months passed.

Thomas and Rebecca, the twins, didn't understand adopting a child so late in their lives. Clara, though, the baby—until Dean, anyway—backed Geena all the way. And Alex hadn't talked to anyone in the family since he split town at age eighteen.

Dean kept out of Michael's way, as if he could sense how Michael felt. He stuck close to Geena, seeming to know that she was his only safe harbor. She taught him to read, basic math, history and Spanish, her father's native tongue.

The boy learned swiftly, soaking up knowledge. Once he chose to trust, apparently, he did so completely. He took to heart anything Geena said.

Then Geena died. It was so random, so sudden—a quick stop at a convenience store for a bag of M&M's and a bottle of water, a stop she made nearly every day on her way back from the stable. She and Dean entered a store they'd been in more than a thousand times before, but now… the robber whirled to meet them, firing two shots; Geena pushed Dean to the side and he fell hard, snapping his right arm. One bullet flew right where Dean's head had been. The other hit Geena in the neck, severing her spinal cord. She died instantly.

Michael met up with his children, Thomas and Rebecca and Clara, at the hospital, where he collapsed. Rebecca wrapped her arms around him, Thomas dealt with all the official matters, and Clara was the only one who spared a moment of thought for Dean, who was in a bed and silent. Still.

Thomas identified the body, Thomas spoke to Dean's doctor, Thomas even questioned the witnesses, just to be sure of how it all went down. Boy would've made a hell of a cop, if he hadn't gone the engineer route.

Thomas and Rebecca had their own lives to live, so after the funeral they left again. Alex didn't even come down for it; Michael considered disinheriting him for that, but Geena wouldn't have wanted him to do so, so he didn't.

Clara moved back home, took care of both Michael and Dean. It'd been three years since Geena adopted him and all her hard work was wiped away in one fell swoop. He didn't speak, rarely left his room, and never left the house. Clara was patient with him, far moreso than Michael, and it took almost a year for Dean to crawl back out of his shell.

Michael couldn't deal with him, had never been able to, so he left Dean's care in Clara's charge. Eventually, though, as the one-year marker of Geena's death approached, Clara began pulling away.

"I have a life, Daddy," she told him at the dinner table one night. "And I need to get back to it."

He nodded. "I understand," he assured her. "And everything you've done since…" He'd never be able to say the words. "Thank you, Clara."

"You need to be careful with Dean." Clara's voice and face were as serious as he'd ever seen her. "I need you to promise me that, before I can leave. He's…" She sighed. "Daddy, he's just so fragile."

Michael met her eyes. "I'll do my best," he promised.

Clara left a few weeks later. Dean didn't leave his room for six days.

o0o

Dean slipped into the kitchen about half an hour after Michael finished breakfast. He moved silently and kept to himself, loading a plate with cold bacon and eggs.

"I'm taking you to Welton today," Michael told him as Dean sat down.

"Yes, sir," Dean responded softly, keeping his eyes on his plate. He ate everything, Michael reading the paper across the table, and then straightened up the kitchen, did a load of dishes.

He was a good boy, Michael had to admit that.

o0o

Michael had never attended Welton, though Geena's father graduated from there. Thomas spent his sophomore and junior years there, but then Geena pulled him out. Dean has been going to Welton since the year after Geena died. It gets him out of Michael's hair, takes away all worries of schooling.

Dean is a good student, quiet, keeps to himself. He only comes home in the summer, an arrangement that suits Michael well. The teachers always speak highly of him—Geena's influence, Michael knows. He was also on the baseball team junior year, and probably senior year, too. Geena would be so proud.

Of course, if Geena were alive, Dean wouldn't have gone to Welton in the first place.

o0o

_Nathaniel Vernon remembers the first time he laid eyes on Sam Anderson. The boy stood at his mother's side, taking in everything around him with a wondering, wary gaze. He wasn't the woman's birth son, though Nathaniel only knew that because Ms. Anderson had told him so. They looked similar enough to be blood. _

_Sam was tall for his age, easily clocking in at over six foot. He was gangly and awkward, reminding Nathaniel of a newborn colt. _

_Ms. Anderson asked questions and finally Sam got involved, displaying a mature wit and dedication to his studies. _

_Nathaniel had talked it over with the Board, once Sam was approved for Welton(really, with his grades and test scores, they'd have been nothing more than fools to turn him away) and they had decided, with only two votes to the contrary, that Sam have a roommate from his grade, rather than one his age. Out of the seventy-eight possible candidates, they chose Dean Perry. _

_He is a good student, quiet, never getting in trouble. In his five years at Welton, he'd been in a single fight, started by the other boy, Gregory Hynes. It was his second week at the school and the fight ended abruptly, when Dean smashed Gregory's nose, breaking it. Since then, no students have dared bother him. _

_Nathaniel witnessed the fight, so Dean wasn't penalized beyond having to make a formal apology. Gregory was so awed that he actually approached Dean the next day at lunch and spoke to him. After that, they became close friends. Nathaniel's fairly sure that Gregory is the only person at Welton that Dean considers a friend. _

_Nathaniel has rarely had any reason to interact with Dean, knows almost nothing of him beyond his actions and attitude at school. But after talking with his teachers and Sam Anderson, Nathaniel can be reasonably certain that the boys will be good for each other. _

o0o

First days of school always suck, even for straight A students who know where they're going in life. Gregory Hynes, on the other hand, was not a straight A student, never had been, never would be. He coasted, happily in the middle of the spectrum, getting by on baseball.

He'd attended Welton since second grade and hated every minute of it until sixth, when he picked a fight with the new kid and had his ass handed to him. Dad would've wanted him to start a rivalry with the boy—Dean Perry—but Gregory didn't. Instead, the next day at lunch he sat beside Dean and asked where he'd learned to fight like that.

Gregory's popular at Welton. He's personable and charming, able to speak easily in any crowd. He's friendly with everybody, from the little kids to the oldest, crankiest teachers. There isn't a person there that doesn't like him.

Dean, though… he's a different story. It's not that people dislike him, it's just that no one gets him. He keeps to himself, rarely speaks, and he could easily be the most popular boy at school… Gregory doesn't understand. Dean has the looks, the smarts, and the skills—but he just doesn't care.

He'd shrugged, the few times Gregory brought up over the years, so he finally quit asking. Dean seemed content with his life, so even though Gregory didn't understand it—it was cool.

o0o

Welton started the year with a major chapel service, like always. Gregory had quit paying attention in third grade, so he watched Dean, like always. Dean's father sat rigidly beside him, and Gregory noticed how uncomfortable Dean seemed. He never spoke of his homelife or family, and Gregory'd wondered—

Father Reling thundered at the pulpit, disturbing Gregory's train of thought. He spoke of the four foundations of Welton—Excellence, Discipline, Determination, and Pride—and how they were to be the best in everything they attempted.

Mr. Perry nodded along with Father Reling and Dean sat up straight, but Gregory could tell his friend wasn't in the room.

o0o

After much groaning, Mom and Dad finally left. Gregory headed for Dean's room and showed up just in time to hear Mr. Perry tell Dean to drop Drama.

"You're taking too many classes, Dean. You won't be able to maintain your grades."

Gregory's mouth dropped open and he inched in closer; the door to Dean's room wasn't closed all the way and he could barely hear Mr. Perry over the bustle.

"Yes, sir," Dean said quietly. It was all Gregory had ever heard him say to authority figures.

"Make Geena proud, Dean," Mr. Perry concluded and strode out of the room, not even glancing at Gregory, who jumped back out of the way.

"Dean," Gregory called, entering the room. "Man, you love Drama."

With a shrug, Dean looked up. "Doesn't matter. It's his money paying for school, so he gets the final say on my classes."

Gregory scoffed lightly. "I knew you'd say that."

o0o

Nathaniel led Ms. Anderson and her son to Sam's room. Ms. Anderson hadn't released Sam's hand yet and tears were pooling in her eyes. Sam didn't seem to mind her clinginess, which surprised Nathaniel—most boys he'd met were mortified by displays of affection.

At the doorway, Nathaniel turned to Ms. Anderson. "Here we are," he told her with a gentle smile.

She looked up at Sam. "I'll be fine, Mama," he said, hugging her close. She answered in Spanish, which Nathaniel had never mastered. Sam nodded, leaning down so she could kiss his forehead.

Sam smiled at her before walking into the room. Nathaniel followed so that he could introduce the boys, knowing that Ms. Anderson would want to find her way back alone, compose herself.

Dean and Gregory were the only ones present, Dean by the window and Gregory stretched out on the bed. Dean turned to face them and Gregory shot to his feet.

"At ease, boys," Nathaniel joked, noticing that only Gregory followed his command. "Sam Anderson, this is your roommate Dean Perry." He nodded to Dean. "And his friend, Gregory Hynes."

"Hello," Sam said, eyes flicking from Dean to Gregory, then back to Nathaniel.

"Sir," Gregory began, titling his head. "Isn't he a bit young?"

Sam flushed.

"He's fourteen, but a senior," Nathaniel explained patiently. "So, he gets a senior roommate."

Dean shrugged. "As you say, sir."  
Sam's grip shifted on his suitcase, the backpack slipping from his shoulder.

"Well, Dean'll get you settled, Sam," Nathaniel told the boy. "I need to head back."

Sam nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Vernon."

o0o

Gregory studied Dean's roommate with a careful eye. Tall; dark, floppy hair; sharp green eyes; very, very nervous. "You'll do," he decided.

The kid blinked. "Um, yay?"

Dean sank down onto his bed. "Ignore him," he advised the kid. "Paying attention only encourages him."

Gregory laughed. "I need to make sure I've got the good bed. See you later?" he asked Dean. Dean nodded and smiled; for a moment, Gregory wondered if Dean had always been so damned attractive, but he quickly shook that thought off and left.

No doubt, Taylor had already chosen the bed by the window, which wouldn't do at all. He knew Gregory needed the fresh air—damn… had Dean always been so hot? Gregory couldn't remember.

As he slipped into his room—and, yep, Taylor'd already taken the bed by the window—Gregory knew he was in trouble. He was developing a crush on his best friend.

Well, shit.


	2. II

**Title**: run on for a long time

**Chapter**: II

**Disclaimer**: the Winchesters aren't mine. Title from "God's Gonna Cut You Down" performed by Johnny Cash. The poems contained herein are, in fact, mine.

**Warnings**: AU, clearly

**Pairings**: OMC/OFC

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 2960

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Dean doesn't remember calling any man _father_. He does remember a mother, though. She has long blonde hair and eyes just like his, and she sings lullabies. Sometimes, he thinks he may've even had a brother, a roly-poly baby with bright green eyes, but he can never remember a name.

Geena is the first thing he recalls with clarity. She swooped in and rescued him from Hell, took him away to her castle, where she mended him, where she treated him like a person and showered him with love.

Dean adores Geena. He worships the ground she walks on. If she asks, he'll jump off a cliff and never regret it.

Unfortunately, with Geena comes Michael, her husband. Michael never once raises a hand to Dean, and his voice only infrequently, but Dean knows Michael can barely stand him. Dean spends as little time with Michael as possible.

Geena's children, Rebecca and Thomas and Clara, are easier to stand. Rebecca and Thomas don't particularly like Dean, or understand Geena's decision to take him in, but Clara actually gets to know him. They have a few things in common—they both prefer classic rock to any other music and despise Reese's, and both love riding horses over all else.

Geena is gentle with Dean, never forces him to go faster than he's comfortable, lets him pick food and movies, gives him a choice in everything. She understands his need for control, how he doesn't like being touched, how sometimes he just needs silence. She never sneaks up on him, never yells at him.

Dean loves her. She is the one person in the world he trusts.

o0o

It's over three years after Geena adopts Dean when she dies. She'd taken him to the barn, let him exercise her Paint gelding, Toto, like they did nearly every afternoon. They stop at a convenience store they've visited a thousand times before, but this time there's a robbery going on.

Geena shoves Dean down before he's even processed the danger; a bullet zings right through where his head would've been. And then a bullet hits Geena in the neck and she falls. Dean stares at her, all pain in his newly-broken arm forgotten.

o0o

Nothing is the same after Geena's death. Everything she'd taught him is shoved to the back of his mind, and he just stares at the walls, waiting.

If he's good enough, she'll come back for him. She'll take him with her. She won't be like Mommy and Daddy—he did have a daddy, right?—and leave him. If only he's good enough…

Clara is kind, and she has Geena's eyes. She visits him every day, not making him leave the room Geena had let him decorate. She tells him how Toto's doing, asks if he wants to go riding. He just shakes his head.

If he's good, Geena will come back.

She will.

She has to.

o0o

A year after Geena dies, Clara tells him she has to go.

"Dad'll take care of you," she promises him, and Dean looks away.

He'd been good, hadn't broken any rules, hadn't told any lies. But Clara's leaving him, anyway. Just like Mommy and Daddy and Geena.

Why does everybody always leave him?

Two weeks after Clara leaves, Michael enrolls Dean in Welton Academy, a prestigious school far away in New Hampshire.

"You _are_ a smart boy," Michael tells him, leaving him in the principal's office. "I know you'll make Geena proud."

Dean doesn't watch Michael leave, instead turning his attention to Mr. Vernon, who smiles.

"Welcome to Welton, Dean," Mr. Vernon says. "I'm sure you'll be happy here."

Dean hasn't been happy in over a year. He doesn't see that changing anytime soon. "Yes, sir," he answers anyway.

He follows Mr. Vernon to a room with two beds and a desk. "This'll be yours," Mr. Vernon tells him. "Your roommate, Charlie Dalton, is in class; you're excused for the day, but be on-time tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," Dean responds.

"Your father is having your stuff shipped—should be here by late tomorrow, Wednesday at the latest." Mr. Vernon smiles at him. "Charlie'll let you know your schedule."

"Yes, sir," Dean says again. Mr. Vernon leaves him alone.

o0o

Dean sits on the bed furthest from the door and stares out the window, watching the clouds float through the sky.

He doesn't want to be here. He can't figure out why he didn't run when Geena died. Can't figure out why Michael kept him. Can't figure out why he doesn't run now, just—vanish.

It wouldn't be that hard. He's survived before.

But he stays sitting on the bed until his roommate arrives.

o0o

Charlie Dalton is loud and boisterous and always has a smile. Dean's second day at Welton, he just follows in Charlie's wake, only ever speaking when spoken to, only ever giving one or two-word answers. Charlie doesn't mind talking, though, and doesn't seem to notice Dean's silence.

The teachers greet him and direct him to his seat; when class is over, Dean follows Charlie to the next one. It is an easy day. The rest of the week is the same.

o0o

Monday of his second week, Gregory Hynes shoves him in the lunch line. Calls him a mama's boy and a pansy. Tells him he's not good enough for Welton.

Dean stares at him, canting his head, assessing. He sees Gregory's eyes flit to another boy, the sweat on his forehead, the nervous way he swallows. This attack wasn't Gregory's idea.

When Gregory moves, Dean meets him; one blow and Gregory's nose is broken. The fight is over.

Mr. Vernon only tells Dean to apologize, which is no hardship. The boys look at him in awe and wonder as he goes about his day; Dean isn't used to being noticed, doesn't know how to react. He pretends it isn't happening. It takes weeks for everything to go back to normal, although no one bothers him again.

The day after Dean breaks Gregory's nose, though, Gregory sits beside him at lunch. He stares at Dean for a minute, warily, but Dean makes no sound, no movement. "So, where'd you learn to fight like that?" Gregory asks after a moment.

Dean shrugs, taking a bite of his hamburger.

"I'm Gregory Hynes," he says, but Dean already knew that. He shrugs again. "Charlie told me that you're cool, if quiet," Gregory continues.

Dean glances over, almost wanting to ask why Gregory'd been such a bastard, then, but he holds his tongue.

Gregory seems to read his mind. "I was testing you," he explains, pouring ketchup over his fries. "Matt and I do it to all the newbies. Most of 'em shrink back. None have ever hit me before."

_You were lucky, _Dean thinks. _I could've killed you._

Gregory's quiet for a moment. "So," he finally asks, "what kind of music do you like?"

o0o

Charlie willingly drops Dean with Gregory and goes on his way. They're still friendly, though nowhere near friends, and if Dean asks a question, Charlie'll be more than happy to answer.

Gregory, it turns out, is not as big of a bastard as he'd appeared. He's actually pretty popular. Dean can't figure out why Gregory keeps coming back to him—or why he hasn't just taken off into the night yet, since he pretty much hates Welton—but when the Christmas holidays roll around and Michael doesn't send for him, Dean realizes Welton has become home.

Well. As much of a home he's had since Geena died.

o0o

Five years he spends at Welton, only going back to Michael's house for summer. He's at the top of his class, easily keeping pace and then outstripping boys who've been at the school for years.

Five years and Gregory never lets him be, always there with a smile and a joke, always talking about movies and history and sports, always ready for Dean to speak. Dean rarely starts their discussions, but he does respond whenever Gregory asks.

Five years and he doesn't know why Michael keeps him, why he stays. Life would be so much easier without the weight of Michael's stare.

But Geena wouldn't want him to leave. So he doesn't go.

Five years, and he never goes.

o0o

Mr. Vernon tells him that Charlie's been placed elsewhere and his new roommate is only fourteen. "He's a good student, so the Board and I decided you'd be the best partner for him."

"Yes, sir," Dean answers.

o0o

The service before school starts is the same it's always been; Dean doesn't pay attention, though Michael nods along with Father Reling. Dean doesn't know why Michael comes every year; he doesn't care about Dean as a son, so it's a pointless waste of time.

At the end of the service, Michael accompanies him to his room. "Geena would be proud of you," Michael says, a slight hitch in his voice, staring out the window. "She loved you, you know."

"I know, sir," Dean tells him. "Thank you."

"This is your final year," Michael continues. "You've done well—better than I ever expected." He turns to face Dean. "However, you need to drop Drama. You're taking too many classes, Dean. You won't be able to maintain your grades."

There's nothing to say but, "Yes, sir."

Michael nods. "Make Geena proud, Dean," he finishes and strides past Dean, out the room.

The second he's gone, Gregory rushes in. "Dean, man, you love Drama," he whines.

Dean shrugs, knowing it doesn't matter, so he says as much. "It's his money paying for school, so he gets the final say."

Gregory scoffs. "I knew you'd say that." He throws himself on the bed Dean claimed for himself and Dean walks over to the window. "You gotta take over your life, Dean."

"After I graduate," Dean says, mostly to himself, "I'm gone." He'll have honored Geena's memory and the world will see him as an adult—he's survived before. He can do it again.

Gregory clears his throat, almost uncomfortably, and Dean gives him a quick glance. His friend—his only friend—starts talking about his summer. His parents took him and his two sisters on a European trip. Dean listens with half his mind, the rest of him making plans for the future.

After graduation, he's gone.

o0o

Mr. Vernon leads a tall boy into the room, introduces him as Sam Anderson, the new roommate. Dean studies him as Mr. Vernon leaves and Gregory ribs him. Taller than him, green eyes, floppy brown hair—and seems nice enough. After a moment, Gregory leaves, telling Dean he'll be back later.

Dean sinks down onto the bed Gregory'd been on and nods to the other. "That's yours," he says. Sam nods in response. "Your stuff's on the way, I assume?" Dean asks. Sam nods again.

"Should be here by Tuesday," he answers. "It's not much, though. Just some notebooks and pens, a few novels."

"Do you have any questions?" Dean remembers his first days at the school well, and he'd been dealing with people his own age. For someone years younger, it couldn't possibly be easy.

"Not at the moment," the boy responds, stretching out on his own bed. "Is the offer open, though?"

"Of course."

o0o

After supper, Gregory visits Dean's room again, settling next to him on the floor. "Dr. Collins is back," Gregory whines, "and in top form."

Dean grins at him. "I don't know what your problem is with him. He's a wonderful teacher."

Gregory mock-glares at him. "Easy for you to say, Perry—you're his favorite."

From his desk, Sam asks, "What's Dr. Collins teach?"

"History," Gregory answers. "We're learning about the twentieth century this year."

"So, what's the problem?"

"In my very first class with the man, I managed to get on his bad side." Gregory rolls his eyes.

"Actually, if I recall correctly," Dean cuts in, "you told him he had no idea what he was talking about and never apologized."

"He didn't!" Gregory protests. "He was completely wrong."

Dean looks up at Sam. "They share a mutual dislike."

Sam snorts and responds, "I can imagine," turning back to his notebook.

o0o

On the first day of classes, Sam shadows Dean, much like Dean had shadowed Charlie, five years before. Unlike Dean, however, Sam quickly makes friends; by the end of the week, Sam has his own circle. Dean is content to leave the boy in their care.

The new English teacher, Mr. Keating, swiftly becomes Dean's favorite. He's interesting and young, with a twisted sense of humor that Dean appreciates. He doesn't demand perfection, like most of the other teachers at Welton; Mr. Keating actually seems to revel in mistakes.

Not to ridicule the boys, though—he loves being able to teach them a lesson. Dean looks forward to his class more than any other.

o0o

The first English assignment of the year is to write a poem. It's due on Friday, three days after Mr. Keating first tells them about it. The directions are simple: at least four lines long. And they'll have to read the finished product in front of the class for full credit.

Sam nearly has a meltdown after supper, paging through his English book, reading everything about poetry it has to say. Dean watches, bemused.

"You'll do fine, man," he tells the boy. "Just calm down."

Sam glares at him. "I have to get up _in front of the class_ and _read_ something _I've_ _written_—I can't calm down!"

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Dude."

With a sigh, Sam turns to face him. "It was different, back home. I'd known everyone for years. But here…" He shrugs. "It's just different."

"Trust me, Sammy," Dean says. "I've known most of these guys for years; you're better than they are."

Sam blushes, ducking his head. "Thank you."

For some reason, Dean finds that endearing.

o0o

Dean doesn't procrastinate writing his poem; Wednesday he just sits down at his desk and writes. It's seven lines long and he's fairly pleased with it.

Sam, however, waits until midnight on Thursday and scribbles down something he refuses to let Dean see.

In English, Mr. Keating calls on Charlie to go first. He reads out two haikus about sharks, his favorite animal. Gregory's in the middle; his is about his older sister, who died years ago.

Dean is third-to-last, with Sam and a boy named Harry after him. Dean isn't ashamed of his poem, but he never looks up from the paper as he reads:

"The bell tolls not;

forever shall we wait.

Murmurs in the night,

fading away slowly day by day.

The bell tolls not:

the end has come

**_—and who remains when Death is done?—"_**

Mr. Keating nods when Dean glances up. "Good job, Mr. Perry." His smile is gentle. Dean smiles back and hands his paper in, walking to his seat.

"Mr. Pitts," Mr. Keating calls. "You're next up."

Harry groans but rises and swiftly reads his poem, then hurries back to his seat. Mr. Keating walks over to collect his paper from him. Harry flushes as he hands it off.

"And now, your turn, Mr., Anderson." Mr. Keating leans against the wall, nodding to Sam.

Sam looks down at his desk. "I—I didn't write one, sir," he says.

Dean blinks. He'd watched Sam last night; the kid _definitely_ wrote a poem. So why the lie?

"Well, I'll have to give you a zero for this assignment," Mr. Keating tells him.

"I understand," Sam answers, not glancing up.

Mr. Keating nods, shooting Dean a look he can't read. "That concludes my lesson for the day," he addresses to the class. "The rest of the hour is yours."

o0o

There's a thirty minute break between third and fourth hour, which for the seniors is English and History. Sam always spends it in the library; Dean and Gregory usually go the gym and shoot some hoops.

That Friday, though, Dean goes back to his room and searches for the poem he knows Sam wrote. He finds it crumpled on the ground next to their closet.

As he reads, he wonders—again—why Sam didn't turn it in.

_Slowly, bit-by-bit, he counted the money,_

_One coin at a time, dropping each through_

_His trembling, traitors' fingers. Each caught the light,_

_Shimmered white in the fire,_

_The etchings highlighted, harsh and steel—_

_It was all there, all thirty pieces._

_Thirty pieces, for his soul._

_Thirty pieces, and they weren't even gold._

"Shit, Sammy," he whispers, smoothing it out on Sam's desk. "That's pretty good."

o0o

He doesn't mention the poem or the assignment to Sam, though he really wants to. They talk about a lot, though—movies, books, animals, dreams, life. Months fly by before Dean knows it, and Christmas break is here. Sam goes home, of course, as does Gregory. Only three seniors stay.

Mr. Keating stays, too, and Dean spends most of his time in Mr. Keating's office, talking about anything that comes to mind. He's spoken more this year than all five previous years combined.

He tells Mr. Keating about Geena and Michael, about dropping Drama. Mr. Keating tells him that he should talk to Michael, tell him how he feels. Dean tries explaining how little his feelings matter to Michael, but his favorite teacher can't seem to comprehend. Dean drops it.

Soon enough, school's in session again. They get back midterm grades: Dean has all As, as does Sam. Gregory scrapes by with two Cs and five Bs.

Gregory tells Dean about a play being performed in a near-by town, "A Midsummer Night's Dream." The role of Puck is still open. Unless it gets cast soon, the entire production will be shut down.

He has three days to decide; finally, just before dawn on the Saturday of the last auditions, he chooses to go.


End file.
